Suited and booted

At this moment in time, I don’t own a suit. The era of attending weddings has passed, second marriages in my circle of friends seem to be lower-key affairs, and I’ve not quite reached the age when people are popping off. Weddings, christenings, funerals…

It’s not something I think about a huge amount. I generally wear jeans and a shirt to work, jeans and a t-shirt when off duty. It suits (no pun) me, and probably represents my “brand” as a digital disruptor (or whatever the heck the buzzwords du jour are) reasonably well. I’ll put on a pair of cords if I want to dress up a bit.

In the next few days I’ve got pieces of work that put me into two ends of the dressing up spectrum. This afternoon I’m giving a guest lecture to a group of undergraduates studying Business in the Music Industry. The opportunity for looking like a dad at a disco is huge (or, as my wife told me this morning, almost a certain inevitability). On Monday I have a meeting with a group of very senior Civil Servants.

On the one hand I want to be true to myself. On the other, I know that fitting in makes people feel comfortable and goes a long way to building trust quickly. As I said to a chap last night, I’ve given up with job titles, and just refer to myself by whatever title I think the person I’m with needs me to have. But when it comes to my uniform I have more reticence to conform.

What a barrel of contradictions. And a barrel of contradictions that doesn’t own a suit.